


Dash-fire Begetter

by Toast_Senpai



Series: Strike [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, M/M, Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: Arthur fools himself. Dutch sets things right.





	Dash-fire Begetter

**Author's Note:**

> Starting off 2019 the right way.

It is just past sundown when Dutch calls for them to quit riding. He and Arthur are alone on a scouting mission. Earlier that day they had received some solid sounding information about a nearby O’Discoll camp where Colm was supposedly staying for a few days before he moved east. Of course Dutch took the tip in stride and wanted to investigate himself. And who better to bring along than Arthur, who had recently returned from a fairly unsuccessful three day hunting trip with Charles and Bill.

“We’ll set up camp here,” Dutch says as they slow the horses.

They are on the edge of a forest near a creek. The land is flat with sparse grasses. A perfect spot for a fire. Arthur slides from his horse and heads towards the trees, scouring the area in the dying light for any fallen branches.

He has to admit to himself… he likes being out with Dutch, just the two of them. It’s rare. Usually they bring along Hosea, and even sometimes John. When Dutch had come back with the news that morning, he shouted for Arthur to come with him. No one else. The whole camp had paused, probably wondering what it was about. In the moment, Arthur hadn’t thought too much of it. They’d saddled the horses, Dutch saying they wouldn’t be more than a couple of days.

But now they are out here in the cool night miles from camp, and Arthur feels the persistent clawing of certain thoughts more so than usual.

Probably because he’s alone. With _Dutch_. Even since they’d taken on a plethora of new members for the gang, the time spent between the two of them has become nonexistent. Arthur goes fishing with Hosea or Javier, hunts with Charles, gives attention to Jack when John is away, and dare he say, provides more for the camp than anyone else. And even though he wishes for additional hours in the day so he can get in a few extra with Dutch, he does appreciates the family he’s come to care for.

Arthur collects enough fire wood and brings an armful back. Dutch has already cleared a small area and set up a ring of stones. Arthur assembles the sticks into a fire, breaking up some of the larger ones.

Dutch takes out their supper once the fire is crackling and throwing off pleasant heat. It is beans again because lately they haven’t been doing so hot with bringing in money. Arthur knows he’s doing his best, but with the gang as big as it is now, it’s been increasingly difficult to keep everyone fed.

“You okay there, son? Been awfully quiet this whole time.” Dutch turns the cans, trying to get a more consistent cook through.

Arthur busies himself with his bedroll. He takes it from his horse and unrolls it, shaking off the dust. “Ain’t got much to talk about, is all,” Arthur says. He spreads it onto the ground, then sits down. He stares into the fire. “Mind’s been pretty peaceful as of late.” He never sets out to lie, at least not to Dutch. But if the older man knew the kinds of things Arthur has been thinking about lately… well, Arthur doesn’t know exactly what the consequences would be, except he’s sure they wouldn’t be very kind.

Dutch hums. “If you say so.”

No more talk between them, just the bugs of the night and the far off yip of coyotes, their horses chewing on grass and the calm gurgle of the creek. They eat in silence. Arthur can feel Dutch watching him. He doesn’t say anything though. Arthur simply wants to enjoy the man’s company. It’s different being out here, away from the ruckus of camp, the nagging of Grimshaw about every little thing and Javier’s almost nightly entertainment.

It makes Arthur think back to years ago when he was much younger, when Dutch would take him out at dusk and teach him the best ways to set up a temporary camp, how to construct traps for animals and people alike in the dead of night with only the moon as a guide. All fond memories, of course. And then John was picked up, and Arthur had to play the big brother, give up his coveted single-child status.

Not that he didn’t enjoy having new family around, but his time with Dutch was shared time after that. He isn’t as good a shot as John, isn’t as quick on his feet. Still, Arthur knows Dutch likes _him_ best, otherwise he would have asked John to come out tonight instead.

“For someone who says they don’t got much to talk about, you sure look like you’re thinking a lot,” Dutch comments, setting aside his empty can. He takes off his hat and stretches his legs. “Wondering why I didn’t bring more people with us?”

Arthur plays along. “You know I ain’t too fond of questioning you, Dutch.” He follows orders, not raises issue with their leader’s commands. He’s not John.

“And that’s why I picked you.” He tilts his head back, eyes to the dark sky. There are too many stars out to count. “Ever loyal to me, Arthur. It’s something I love about you.”

Arthur feels a warmth spread through his chest that’s not from their fire. Dutch is gentler, when it’s just them. Arthur knows it’s greedy but he wants more of this. He wants to do all those things that they used to together, all the things that were once unfamiliar to him. But instead of being Dutch the mentor, it’d be Dutch the partner.

“Out of them all, you have the most faith in me, son,” Dutch continues. He looks at Arthur. “I don’t think I could have made you into a better man.”

Arthur gets his boots off and brings his knees up. He finally lets himself glance at Dutch. The man’s face is relaxed, more so than Arthur has seen it in a while. It’s bathed in the yolky orange of the fire. Arthur wishes they were sitting closer. The three feet between them is like empty winter. It makes his ache for Dutch even heavier.

More unspoken conversation passes before Dutch releases a low sigh. “We should probably get some sleep. I want to start out early tomorrow, preferably before the sun’s up.”

Arthur gives a single nod. “I’ll take watch.”

Dutch pauses as he’s getting under his blanket. “I doubt anyone is going to bother us all the way out here. Besides, it’s only for a few hours and we both need sleep. Put out the fire.”

“You goin’ dull in your old age, Dutch? Weren’t it _you_ who taught me to always be on my guard?” Arthur is more so trying to tease and he hopes Dutch doesn’t take it the wrong way.

Another sigh. Dutch already has his eyes closed. He’s facing the fire. “All right, all right. Wake me up in a couple hours.”

Arthur takes out his sketch book and doodles. He’s free to watch Dutch now, the man probably already asleep. Arthur struggles a bit with the shifting shadows, smudging too much of his pencil trying to get it just right. Eventually he’s happy with what he’s drawn. A slumbering Dutch, their horses behind him, and a clear sky above. Not usually does he have to urge to draw people. He closes his journal and shoves it back in his bag.

Most likely an hour has passed. Arthur doesn’t get out his watch to check. Instead, he rises and noiselessly makes his way over to Dutch. Arthur stops once he’s next to the man’s legs. He hesitantly kneels, ears starting to ring in the silence as he holds his breath.

Dutch is on his side, an arm folded under his head as a makeshift pillow. Arthur can clearly see his face from where he’s at. So restful are Dutch’s features, something Arthur never gets to see because he has his own tent in camp now. They all used to sleep near each other, though those days are gone.

The longer Arthur stares, the more his boldness grows. He knows Dutch isn’t a light sleeper, but the man can still be on his feet in three seconds if he’s startled awake. Arthur also knows that it’s a very bad idea to do what he wants to right now.

And that’s exactly why he does it.

First, he listens and scans the area around them for anything that might be a potential threat. Of course there’s nothing; it’s another calm evening far from the main road, hidden behind a large hill and tucked down out of sight. Even the smoke from their fire would be hard to see, what with the sliver of the moon barely giving any light.

Arthur unhooks his gun belt, wincing at how loud the buckle sounds, all the metal bits taunting him as he lays it to the side. Then he stops and waits. Dutch hasn’t moved. Good. With a shaking hand Arthur palms at the front of his jeans, fingers digging into the material around the shape of his cock.

So many times he’s pictured Dutch in his mind while he got off. Never in camp, though. That is too risky, too _close_. He always takes himself into the forest and makes it quick. A tinge of guilt always lingers afterwards, something that he has a difficult time getting rid of.

But tonight he’s feeling reckless. Arthur doesn’t know why, only that he _wants_. Maybe he’s been lusting for too many years. He undoes the button of his jeans and works a hand inside, grips himself and gives a single stroke from bottom to tip.

Arthur chews on his lip, needing to blink. He doesn’t, doesn’t want to miss a single second of watching Dutch’s glowing, fire-bathed face. The man really is handsome. Arthur has always loved that little beauty mark on his cheek, the full mustache and perfectly rectangular soul patch. How his dark hair curls at the ends. Arthur admires it all, how well kept Dutch presents himself. Even in his sleep he’s wonderful.

Dutch is a gentleman _and_ someone who wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if threatened. Arthur knows everything about him except one thing. Something he’s recently discovered is important. Arthur fights against the pull of arousal and holds the base of his cock. How does Dutch see him? Is he still only a son, a brother? Or is he just a valuable asset, one that Dutch spent years and years grooming into what he is today? Arthur has received no hints at the answer. He’s left wondering and overthinking every encounter, every word spoken between them.

Often Arthur thinks that maybe it is best he doesn’t know the truth. If he did, he’d probably be left a mess. Would he end up leaving like John had? Only never to come back?

Arthur watches Dutch’s face twitch, but the man doesn’t move. Where he’s at on his knees, Arthur is near enough to touch Dutch if he wanted to. It would be a mistake. The yearning to reach out and run his hand along Dutch’s leg is strong. Arthur keeps still. He fists over his cock for some momentary relief before he stops again, listening and trailing his eyes along the blackened edges of the wilderness around them.

The fire snaps and one of the horses snorts. It’s blissful, this quiet. Arthur resumes his complete focus on Dutch’s face. As he thumbs over the head of his cock, he pictures in his mind what it would be like to roll Dutch over onto his back and sit in his lap, have the man observe him as he rubbed himself off. In a perfect scene, Dutch would tell him how to do it and shower him in praise.

Arthur brings his cock out of his jeans, pushing the fabric lower on his hips until they threaten to fall down. He uses both his hands, the right to stroke and the left to hold his balls. Arthur knows his breathing is louder as he draws it in and lets it out through his nose in hasty puffs. He tries and fails to slow it. A hum almost spills from his mouth and he swallows it.

He wants this to last as much as he wants it over with. The fear of being caught only makes him harder. Arthur drags his fingers through the fluid beading at the tip of his cock and smooths it down the length. He wishes he could make noise, let out the groan he keeps having to suppress. Arthur quickens his hand, the other moving further back to press between his cheeks, brush over his hole.

Letting out a harsh breath, Arthur stops himself. His lungs ache, heart in a persistent race, his knees numb. He waits, thinks he hears Dutch mumble something, sees his mustache tremble. Or maybe he’s imagining it all. Arthur carefully draws in air before he resumes. He’s already getting close but it’s for the best. He can’t let this go on all night, as much as he’d like that.

He gives himself a particularly rough tug, fingertips trailing just under the head of his cock, and it’s so _good_ that Arthur briefly closes his eyes. He’s right up on release, can feel the telltale spark along his nerves as the heat builds.

Arthur grits his teeth hard. He can’t contain the grunt that hits the back of his throat and bubbles out. And then, before he realizes it, he’s husking that word he’d promised himself he’d never say.

“ _Daddy_.” It’s a rough whisper but it definitely comes out of his mouth. Arthur knows he really shouldn’t have. He just couldn’t help it, not when he’s about to finish, body buzzing with the anticipation of it.

Arthur forces his eyes open, wanting to see Dutch’s face in the final moments.

What he isn’t expecting is to see Dutch’s own eyes _looking back at him_.

A strangled sob leaves Arthur. He’s feeling a strange mix of panic and excitement. He could have come right then but he rips his hands away from himself.

Slowly, mechanically, Dutch sits up. He pins Arthur with a shadowed stare.

“What was that, _son?_ ” Dutch’s voice is gravelly from sleep.

Arthur thinks Dutch sounds angry. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns and uses weak muscles to try to move himself along the ground, farther away. He wants to jump to his feet but doesn’t trust himself. He’s shaking terribly, knows if Dutch doesn’t kill him he’ll still be beaten to within an inch of his life.

A hand wraps around Arthur’s ankle in a tight grip. He tries to yank away, but Dutch closes in. Arthur is shoved onto his back and pinned down, Dutch hovering over him. Their faces are a mere breath apart.

“I asked you a question, boy. _What_ did you say?” Dutch growls.

Arthur’s instinct is to apologize. Grovel at Dutch’s feet and beg the man to forgive him. He _almost_ says sorry but he knows that Dutch doesn’t want to hear that.

Instead, Arthur mutters, “I called you daddy, sir.” This is it, Arthur thinks. He’s dead for sure. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself, knowing the pain of a fist will soon meet his jaw.

The harsh kiss throws Arthur off, along with the feel of a ring-clad hand securing around his half-hard cock. Arthur freezes, the previous chill of dread swiftly replaced with a burning throughout his body that’s hotter than their campfire.

“You’re such a good boy, Arthur,” Dutch says against his lips. “I had some idea that you wanted me, but not quite like this.”

Arthur whines, the sound pathetic except there’s no holding it in. Dutch’s mouth against his own is heaven, all spit slicked lips and scratchy facial hair. It’s the best kind of torture.

Somehow, Arthur finds strength in his voice. “Since forever, Dutch,” he manages to croak between their kissing. Dutch hums and it sounds like a purr. Arthur arches up, a knee pushing against Dutch’s hip, trying to bring them closer together.

Dutch releases Arthur’s lips. “Lusting after me since I first picked you up?” he asks, teasing tone to his voice.

Arthur swallows. He tilts his head to the side, face hot. “Well… it took some time after that.”

Dutch laughs, amused. He kisses Arthur’s cheek, then his ear. “Of course it did.” He goes lower, tickling Arthur’s neck as he pecks it. “I must say, one of the reasons I took you in was because you were quite the looker, as unwashed as you were.” He pauses. “Don’t let Hosea know. He’d whip me good.”

Arthur smiles. “I won’t tell him nothin’.” He drags his hands through Dutch’s hair, tangling his fingers. He pushes into Dutch’s grip on him, groaning at the feel of calloused skin shifting along his cock. His arousal is renewed tenfold now that he knows he isn’t going to be beat.

“Do you want me, Arthur?” Dutch mutters against his neck. “Want me to take you right here?”

Arthur does want that, his cock twitching in Dutch’s hand. He tugs at Dutch’s hair. “Yes…” He feels a new wave of embarrassed heat rush through him but still he says, “Daddy, _please_.”

Dutch’s hand gives one more squeeze to Arthur’s cock before he lets go. “Oh, son,” he says as he sits back, Arthur’s hands slipping away. He looks down at Arthur. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Arthur licks his lips. “Gun oil’s in my bag.”

As Dutch gets to his feet, Arthur removes his jeans. He lays fully on the cold ground, grass providing some cushion. The black sky overhead is so clear and filled with stars that Arthur feels himself getting dizzy the more he stares up at it.

Then Dutch returns, spreading his legs to slip between them. Arthur lowers his eyes to meet the other man’s. Dutch sets the tin container of oil on Arthur’s stomach. He watches Dutch get his own trousers out of the way just enough to reveal his cock. Arthur’s eyes have adjusted, and he can see the outline of it in Dutch’s hand. He wants to spend time touching it, get it in his mouth, but Dutch is hiking one of Arthur’s legs over his shoulder.

“Open that for me, darling,” Dutch drawls.

Arthur picks up the oil and undoes the cap. Dutch holds out a cupped hand and Arthur pours some into it. He recaps it and tosses it off to the side.

Dutch’s slick hand trails down his cock. Arthur digs his nails into the dirt, body taut, holding his breath as Dutch’s fingers go lower, finds his hole and circles it. Arthur hisses out a curse, thighs flexing, trying to bring them together.

With a tsk, Dutch elbows Arthur’s free leg away. “Be a good boy, Arthur.” He presses two fingers in. “Loosen up for me.”

Arthur breathes deeply, brain turning to mush as Dutch’s thick fingers twist inside him. He’s done this same thing before but it feels different this time. Arthur knows it’s because it’s _Dutch_ of all people, watching him with a heated gaze and brushing against his walls until they hook into just the right place. Arthur whines, a low sound that starts in his chest before rushing out of him. He finds himself reaching out, no longer anchoring himself in the dirt.

Dutch leans to him, letting Arthur wrap arms around his back. He’s hot like summer, and Arthur wants to get burned, burned in the best way possible. Dutch is a like a brand, and where he touches twinges pleasantly. His fingers give one last stretch before they slide out.

Arthur brings up his other leg and Dutch takes it to his shoulder. He kisses Arthur deep, flicks his tongue against teeth before Arthur feels him, head of his cock pressing in as he’s bent uncomfortably, knees almost to his ears.

“Shit,” Arthur struggles to pant. His toes curl in his boots and he savors the sting. Dutch’s cock feels bigger than he looks. Arthur takes it agonizingly slowly until it’s all the way in. “D…” Arthur draws in a shuddering breath. “Dutch.”

“Hm?” Dutch is kissing him again, pliable and easy, as if they’ve done this a hundred times before. Arthur wishes they had. Dutch nips his bottom lip. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

Arthur groans, knowing he’s going to have a hard time getting over this in the morning. Dutch has got him good. “Move,” he wheezes.

But Dutch remains still. “Can you ask nicely?” He’s grinning, teeth a sliver of white like the moon.

He’s adjusting, and Arthur feels his body start to calm. Dutch is like a blanket over top him, comforting and strong. “Please move,” Arthur swallows hard, “daddy.” It’s barely above a whisper but Arthur gets it out, _enjoys_ saying it even though a rational part of him is shaking his head.

“That’s a good boy,” Dutch praises. He curves a hand around Arthur’s cock as he pulls back. His push in is smooth, and it leaves Arthur choking for air. Dutch rocks into him again and again until he’s got Arthur a moaning mess. “That’s it,” he breathes against Arthur’s mouth.

The thrusts are rough, Dutch snapping his hips, holding Arthur down with his weight, hand stroking his cock lazily. Every dive in has Arthur’s breath punching out, and he’s going a bit light headed.

It takes a moment to realize he’s whining, or some variation of that. Arthur can’t silence the gruff noises bubbling out. He buries his face into Dutch’s neck, tastes the salty sweetness of sweat.

Arthur’s pushed away from as Dutch instead hooks his legs around his waist. The angle is better, and Arthur can actually breathe again. He sucks in air as if he had been drowning.

That is, until Dutch shoves three fingers into Arthur’s open mouth.

Arthur’s tongue laps over the cold metal of Dutch’s rings, saliva pooling in the crevices and spilling past the grooves. Arthur closes his lips around the fingers.

“Ya like that, son? Like suckin’ on these how you would my cock?” Dutch wiggles his fingers and Arthur moans around them, tongue shoving between the spaces.

Arthur nods, teeth pressing lightly into rough skin before Dutch yanks his hand away.

“Beg me for it,” Dutch says, breathless. He twists his hand in the front of Arthur’s shirt, grinds in on his next thrust. “Come on, _son_.”

Arthur would like to tease Dutch about this whole thing as much as he knows he’s going to be pestered for it. But Arthur can’t exactly think straight. There’s only one thing on his mind.

He pushes down against Dutch’s cock, boot heels digging into his back. He catches Dutch’s eyes. “Dutch, please.” Arthur tenses as Dutch’s hand on his cock jerks him faster. “ _Please_ , let me-” He cuts himself off with a gasp when Dutch grips him hard. “Wanna finish-”

Dutch slows, his thrusts turning into rolls. “Do you, Arthur? Tell daddy how much you need it.”

Arthur’s whole body twitches as Dutch pumps his cock, presses a thumb to the leaking slit. It’s too much, and Arthur can feel the spasms starting. “I need it,” Arthur pants. “I need _you_. Need it real bad, d-daddy.” Arthur arches up and presses his head against the hard ground.

Dutch’s fist is a blur over his cock. “That’s my boy,” he coos.

Arthur shudders hard, his release splattering his shirt and spilling onto Dutch’s fingers. He thrums with the heat of it, lost for the moment, one eye shut, and the other watching Dutch’s face.

As Arthur sucks in air, Dutch pulls out of him. He strokes himself quick over Arthur’s stomach until he adds to the sticky mess with a low grunt.

“Sorry,” Dutch huffs. “Shouldn’t a done that on your clothes.”

In the haze of feeling far too good, Arthur reaches down and dips his fingers through their release, catching enough to bring back up to his mouth. “’S’all right,” Arthur murmurs, then licks his fingers. “There’s a crick nearby.”

Dutch breathes a laugh. He pats Arthur’s hip, eyeing him. “Dammit, Arthur, if you don’t quit that I’ll have to punish you.”

Arthur doesn’t move his fingers until they’re clean. He grins. “Promise?”

Dutch kisses him soundly.


End file.
